


loaded

by orphan_account



Category: Chronicle (2012), Dane Gang - Fandom, In Treatment, Kill Your Darlings (2013), The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Place Beyond the Pines (2012), might add more?
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drugs, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, M/M, Nightmares, Party, Polyamory, Social Anxiety, i hate all these tags, just read it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-29 08:21:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3889228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes within a Harry Osborn party. All Danes invited.</p><p>(title from 'loaded' by primal scream aka the best party song ever)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jesse and Jason

**Author's Note:**

> each chapter is a different snippet of different members of the dane gang chilling at one of harry's huge rich boy parties.
> 
> a bit of angst and some sex and some hurt/comfort and a bit of everything really.

"At least I don't have a haircut like some 8th grade catholic school boy. Like, does Mommy not love you enough to pay for an adult hairdresser?"

It's a cheap shot, and really he should know what's going to come next, but the music is pounding and the alcohol is making his head swim and the comment that follows hits him like a speeding bullet-train.

"Yeah, fag? At least I have a mommy."

Jesse's heart leaps to his throat. Frozen for a second, before his hands twitch and clench into a fist.

He attempts to swing the first punch but it's hopeless, and immediately he's overpowered by this ape, fist grabbed and whole body propelled back into the wall behind with such force he's momentarily winded. Taking in a gulp of air he leaps forward and fights dirty- another punch to the stomach as he bites the dickhead's arm whilst he has Jesse in a headlock. A painting falls from the wall as he's thrown into it again- and _god_ he hopes it wasn't some million dollar original- before he's on the floor with a boot too close to his face for comfort. It's all he can do to wrap his arms around his head and prepare for impact. But the impact doesn't come.

"Leave him _alone_."

Jesse peaks through his fingers to see Jason there, and he's a good foot shorter than this thug but there's something in his eyes that Jesse sure as hell wouldn't want aimed at himself. The thug hesitates for a moment before a smile stretches his ugly features and he raises his fist-

and then Harry steps between them, face calm, smirking ever so slightly with that asshole smirk Jesse used to hate so much about him before he knew Harry any better.

"Hey, pal," the billionaire rests a hand on the thug's shoulder, lowers his voice to a level just about audible beneath the music, and says, "I don't know whose plus one you are, but unless you want a lawsuit on your hands I'd recommend getting the fuck out of my apartment."

\------

"You gotta drop this shit," Jason says ten minutes later. He's leaning on the balcony railings with a spliff between his fingers. He hasn't looked at Jesse since he dragged him upright and outside.

"Oh, what, like you're fuckin' Gandhi?" Jesse spits back, nursing a cut on his cheek. Jason's jaw moves like he's biting his tongue. "Go on, say it, whatever it is. How much of a trainwreck I am, how I get myself in trouble too much. 'Cause you can't say _shit_ , Jase."

"That guy was about three times your size," Jason says, taking another drag of the spliff and finally turning to look at his boyfriend.

"He was being a total bitch! He was like-" and Jesse imitates something akin to a caveman voice, which Jason can't help but laugh at despite himself. "-'oh how come you're here, you look like you can't even afford decent shoes, let alone get into an _Osborn_ party', and I was like, 'um I was _invited_ ', and he was like 'by who', and I was like 'by Harry', and he, like, totally didn't even know who Harry was. I think he was with that blonde girl he'd only invited when him and Pete were fighting. Must've thought she was single."

Jason shakes his head and sighs, but with it is the touch of a smile.

"I don't go lookin' for it, Jess," he says. "I don't fight anymore 'less I'm defendin' you."

Jesse's eyes drop and his voice gets smaller.

"I'm sorry. You could have got hurt again, I'm sorry. But he- he said shit about my mom- my birth mother. He was like, 'at least I _have_ a mom.'" Jesse looks up and forces a bitter smile. "Guess he's got that going for him."

And Jason rolls his eyes, pulls Jesse in with his free arm and kisses the top of his hair.

"You are a fuckin' trainwreck," he says and Jesse leans his head on his shoulder, nabs the spliff from his fingers and takes a drag.

"Yeah, well, you too," he says and Jason just laughs.


	2. Harry and Jason

"This is all fuckin' shit, man," Jason drawls, flicking through Harry's vinyl collection as he mans the decks, headphones pushed back over one ear.

"Yeah, well at least it's not _fucking Metallica_ ," Harry hollers in Trip's direction, who flips him the finger with a smirk from the other side of the room. "Anyway, it's not shit, you dick, there's good stuff in there."

"No fuckin' party tunes though," Jason says, flicking through a couple more records before dragging one out with a raised eyebrow. "Boney M?"

" _That_ ," Harry starts with his hands raised in defense, "is Peter's, okay?"

Jason laughs, "Okay, okay," dragging his iPod out from his pocket. "Where's your aux cable?" he demands, but he's found it before Harry can interject, fading out the record with expert ease before shoving the lead into the amplifier, plugging his music in and hitting play. Whatever comes out of the speakers next is heavy and bassy and makes Harry feel a bit like he's in the kind of club where you don't want to touch anything.

He glares into his whiskey as more people join the dance floor.


	3. Lucien and Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bcos would it really be one of my fics if it didn't involve a drunk quicky in a bathrrom

"I can feel you watching me, you know," Lucien says, pouring himself a drink. He can see Trip out of the corner of his eye, leaning against the kitchenette counter, pushing a small bag of something white back into his hoodie pocket. 

Lucien hasn't heard from Allen since their fight ten days ago. He hasn't spoken to Trip since the last time he was drunk and ended up spilling it all out to him; how much he fucking hates all of it. How Allen wasn't really sure if they were together so he thinks he's better off with this plebeian he met at his office, how he didn't think Lucien was committed and how the distance was getting too hard to keep up, and how Lucien, for once, had no idea what to say, so he hung up the phone and just _crumbled_.

Trip shrugs. He wasn't trying to hide his gaze.

"I'm fine," Lucien insists. "We're fine."

Trip just looks, reaching for a beer. He opens it with a fizz and pretends not to notice when Lucien swallows heavily, or how his hand shakes a little as he pours more vodka into his glass. Trip takes a sip of his can and catches Lucien's eye when Lucien finally looks up at him. He lets out a shaking sigh. He wonders how Trip can bring his walls down so easily, _every fucking time_ without a fucking word.

"I fucked up," he whispers, dropping the pretenses. His shoulders slump, defeated. "He's got someone else now. The circle- it's broken. It's- we're finished." He tips back a mouthful of vodka and grimaces.

Trip puts his drink down, takes Lucien's out of his hands and slides between him and the counter, untucking Lucien's shirt to wrap his fingers around the curves of his hip bones. Trip kisses him, gently at first. A reassurance or an apology or just an offer, he can't decide, but then Lucien's grinding into Trip, pushing him back into the counter and Trip smirks into the kiss because he might dress like a dandy and talk like an Oxford scholar but Lucien has no class and Trip knows it. He deepens the kiss, opens his mouth and lets Lucien's tongue glide against his and Trip makes a whimper at the back of his throat, which prompts Lucien to grab his wrist and practically drag him into Harry's en suite.

The door shuts behind them and Lucien's all over Trip, kissing his mouth, his neck, his collar bone, his mouth, his shoulders, his mouth, and the hoodie falls to the floor, followed swiftly by Lucien's blazer and dumb little scarf he always wears. Trip starts to unbutton Lucien's shirt but Lucien bats his hands away, instead focusing on Trip's belt, fumbling with the buckle before pulling the leather free, tugging Trip's jeans down his skinny legs, boxers following suit.

Trip's head falls back against the wall with a gasp as Lucien takes his hard dick between his lips; no playing around because they're both drunk and moaning and already half way there, and Trip grabs a handful of Lucien's perfectly styled blonde hair as he thrusts further into his mouth.

Lucien's tongue runs along the length of Trip's cock as his cheeks hollow with suction, and it's sloppy and it's rushed and Trip _groans_ and Lucien thinks maybe it's the most sound he's ever heard from him, before suddenly Trip's gripping the back of his head tighter and coming. Lucien pulls away in time to spit most of it out, wiping cum from mouth and chin with the back of his hand and Trip's laughing, out of breath, tugging his jeans up with shaking hands. Lucien stands and Trip brings him in for a kiss, licking the remainders of his load from Lucien's lips.


	4. Andrew and Lucien

"'A hive for the honey bee, and live alone in the bee-loud glade, and I shall have some'- _ouch, fuck off Jesse!_ "

He's up on Harry's expensive coffee table, Yeats in hand one hand, bottle in the other, reciting over the thumping music, and Jesse's flicking peanuts at his head whilst snatching the book away.

"Did you bring _poetry_ to a party?" he laughs in disbelief, flicking through the ancient copy before Lucien makes a nosedive off the table, grabbing it back before Jesse can smudge the delicate pages. He glares, taking another swig of vodka.

\------

It's a half hour later and he's stumbling through the bathroom door and flopping down at the base of the toilet, running a hand through his hair and heaving deep breaths.

"Fuck," he mutters. On second thoughts he doesn't think he's going to throw up, but the room is spinning like a damn top and he can't quite remember the last twenty minutes and he really, _really_ needs a glass of water.

"Uh, hey, man, are you okay?"

Lucien jumps out of his skin, spinning round before moaning and clutching his head, squeezing his eyes shut at the motion. When he opens them slowly he sees Andrew perched on the edge of the bathtub, cigarette burning down slowly between his fingers.

Lucien can't quite remember his question, so he says, "You don't smoke."

Andrew shrugs, staring down at his hands.

"Harry said it would relax me," he mumbles. Lucien blinks hard, rubbing his forehead and dragging himself up off the floor to sit next to the younger boy. "I can't- I'm not good at these kind of things. I thought I would be- you know, this time- but, it's just... there's a lot of people, you know?"

Lucien nods, trying desperately to seem more sober than he is, but he _does_ know. He remembers the first party he'd ever been to. He was told it was going to be about four people, four drinks, for four hours, but by half eleven he was drunk and shaking in the corner, overwhelmed by the sheer mass of bodies on the dance floor. He couldn't get away until 3am.

"Has something happened?" he asks, delivering the words with careful deliberation in an attempt not to slur them. But Andrew just shakes his head, bringing the cigarette to his lips with a slightly trembling hand. He coughs as he inhales, gives up, and passes the remainder of the thing to Lucien.

"No," he says, and even in his drunken state Lucien looks at him like he can see right through him, and Andrew grimaces. "Okay, maybe."

He's silent for a while after that. Lucien finishes the cigarette and waits for Andrew to tell him. He knows he will if he wants to. He knows not to push him.

Andrew sighs.

"This girl," he begins finally. "She- I was dancing with her a bit, just for fun, and, uh, she tried to, like, make out. And I didn't know what to _do_ , I tried to kiss her back but I'm no good, Lu, and I didn't _want_ to. I told her I had to pee and now I'm fairly sure she thinks I'm taking a shit or something."

Lucien snorts and even Andrew cracks a smile at himself. Lucien wraps an arm around his narrow shoulders and presses a soft kiss to his forehead.

"I just wish I felt like everyone else."

"Why?" Lucien asks, and Andrew looks up at him with a confused frown.

"What?"

"Well, why do you want to feel like other people? You're not hurting anyone but yourself here. There's nothing _wrong_ with you, Andrew."

Andrew chews his lip for a second, considering.

"You're really drunk," is what he comes out with and Lucien stares him down.

"And really wise."

Andrew smirks, because he's fairly sure really wise people don't drink an entire bottle of vodka to themselves and end up sprawled in front of a toilet by twelve o'clock.

"How so?" he challenges.

"I'm older."

"You are _ancient_ ," Andrew jabs and Lucien punches his shoulder, playing offended. Andrew laughs, and it's damn infectious when the kid's happy because Lucien's cracking up too.

"Feeling better?" he asks when the laughter's trailed off and they're both just grinning at their feet. 

Andrew just smiles and nods, standing up and offering a hand. Lucien takes it but his world spins and he practically falls back to the edge of the bath.

"I'm- I'm gonna sit here. For a bit."

"That would be _wise_ ," Andrew says with a wink, and he's out of the door before Lucien can throw anything at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know lu's 19 but he's also from the 40s so i'm fairly sure he'd get a few jabs about being the irresponsible gang granddad tbh


	5. Harry and Peter

"Yeah, yeah, I'm so glad you're having a good time," Peter pushes a drunk Harry off his shoulders, pressing the phone closer to his ear and batting his boyfriend's hands away. "Look, Gwen, I think I might have to call you later; there's a chimp on my shoulder."

Gwen laughs from the other side of the phone call.

_"Is he alright?"_ she asks, and Peter can hear the genuine smile through the static.

"He's, um," Peter glances at Harry, who's now leaning precariously over the balcony. "He's had a bit to drink."

Saying his goodbyes, Peter hangs up the phone and walks over to wrap his arms around Harry's skinny waist from behind, pulling him back. Harry just flops back against him, looking up with half-lidded eyes.

"You're prettier from this angle," he says, and Peter laughs, vaguely offended.

"Right, how much have you had to drink?" he plays stern, pulling Harry to his feet properly and turning him around so they're face to face.

"Some," Harry rubs the heel of one of his hands to his forehead. "Four."

Peter doesn't know if that's four bottles or four shots, but he catches Harry as he begins to sway on the spot. It doesn't take much for him to get drunk, and it twinges something in Peter's chest to see him such a mess when they both know he's tried to quit drinking so many times now. Peter smiles with as much sincerity as he can, and reminds himself that at least it's not the drugs anymore.

"Okay, come on, time for bed."

He half-carries Harry into his huge bedroom, all the while laughing as the drunk billionaire attempts to make conversation and kiss at Peter's neck, words getting mangled with the whiskey and kisses falling on Peter's collar bone. Peter dumps Harry onto the bed and plants a goodnight kiss on his forehead, but Harry grabs at his shirt and pulls him down on top of him, and Peter can't help but kiss back as Harry's lips lock onto his, tongues sliding against each other until they're both breathless.

"I owe you," Harry whispers as Peter rolls off him and they lie next to each other, flushed and tired.

"Don't start," Peter says, but Harry turns to his side and looks Peter right in the eyes.

"No, Peter, I do, I'd be dead if it weren't for you."

"Harry, you know that's not true. Oscorp would have found a cure in time without me."

"Not- not just that," Harry slurs, "I know I promised that I wouldn't. Get drunk, that is. It wasn't much- I'm a shit boyfriend."

Peter sighs, pulling him closer and kissing him softly.

"You're perfect," he breathes against his ear. "You're perfect, you're perfect, you're perfect."

Harry sighs too, closing his eyes, pressing his face into the crook of Peter's neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i''m not 100% happy with this one but i've not updated in a couple of days so i thought i may as well get it down. may edit later.


	6. Trip and Andrew

There's a low thrum of quietened music coming from the kitchen. Someone's left the playlist on the laptop there, but it's about 4am and the speakers have been shut off in the living room, vinyls strewn across the decks and the tables along with sleeping bodies strewn across the floor and the sofas. Andrew's head leans against the french windows, sat cross-legged and half awake on the balcony. It's not quite sunrise, and the smoke from the cigarette he's got pinched between two fingers curls upwards, still a stark contrast to the darkened sky. He thinks he's got the hang of smoking now, but he can't grasp the appeal. It tastes nasty as hell, but he can't sleep, and Jason's pack was open by his feet, and Lucien's Yeats was hanging off the edge of the kitchen counter, and the two seemed to combine as a way to pass the time. Andrew doesn't really like poetry. Not like Jesse doesn't like poetry- _"No offence, Lu, but I don't get it and I don't care,"_ \- but because he doesn't understand how people can just _write_ down their frustrations and create something beautiful. It's a bitter jealousy that stabs at his chest with the turn of each page. He's only ever been able to destroy things.

He finishes the cigarette and his throat burns. Turning to his glass of water he downs the last drops, untangling his cramped legs to creep back into the living room. He puts Lucien's book into the pocket of his vintage coat, hanging on the back of a sofa where Jesse and Jason are curled up around each other. Jesse's face is hidden in Jason's shoulder, and Jason's smiling slightly in his sleep. As he begins to face the kitchenette, Andrew hears a vague groan coming from in front of the sofa, and turns back around to see Lucien rolling over in his sleep on the floor, away from a kicking Trip. Andrew puts down the glass and drops to his knees in front of him almost immediately.

"Hey," he whispers, gently taking a hold of Trip's shoulder. Trip just whimpers. Andrew knows you're not supposed to wake people in the throws of a nightmare, but he also knows from awful experience that it's a far better alternative to allowing his dreams to continue. He shakes him gently and Trip's eyes fly open, panicked and darting every which way.

"Hey, Trip, hey, it's me, it's Andrew," Andrew says, keeping his hold on Trip's upper arm to ground him. "Listen, it's just me, okay, it's just me."

After a few seconds of blind fear Trip's eyes focus on Andrew's throat. He can't bring himself to look at his face as a few tears spill over his eyelashes, and he lets out a shaking, strangled sob. Andrew uses his free hand to brush away the tears, pushing Trip's sweaty hair back from his eyes and running the tips of his fingers over his jaw.

"It was just a nightmare, Trip, okay? Keep looking at me, it's alright."

Trip bites his lip as his breathing eventually steadies, attempting to get some hold on reality. It's dark, and cold. Andrew's there. No bodies hanging. No men on horses. His skin burns.

"You're at Harry's, remember?"

And Trip just trembles all over. Andrew drops both of his hands to Trip's wrists. He can wrap his fingers all the way around the bone, and he rubs the insides in circular motions, seeking out Trip's pulse. It slows gradually beneath his fingertips when Andrew finds it. He's still quivering like a leaf, though, looking in all corners of the room like there's going to be something terrible hiding there, and he shakes his head. Andrew doesn't know if he's telling him that he's still not sure where he is, or if he's trying to snap himself out of it. He hesitates, and then slowly tugs up his shirt and brings Trip's left hand to the thick, long scar that only Trip has ever seen. He places Trip's hand on the marred skin of his stomach and the older boy finally looks him in the eyes.

"See?" Andrew says softly. "It's me."

Trip nods slowly. The tears have stopped, and he lets out a shuddering breath, leaning forward and resting his head on Andrew's shoulder with a heavy sigh.


End file.
